The Tenderness of Wolves
by Diablo Priest
Summary: Valerie faces danger when she lives in the forest, and the villagers think she is a witch.  Contains femslash.
1. Hunger

Based on the movie _Red Riding Hood_, directed by Catherine Hardwicke, and written by David Leslie Johnson.

The Tenderness of Wolves

by Diablo Priest

From the point where Peter returns, Valerie narrates our story...

I. Hunger

When I was picking herbs that were blooming in the early spring, I saw the large black wolf standing in the moonlit path; but I wasn't afraid. I knew by his eyes that he was Peter. I had grown up with those eyes adoring me. He wasn't a monster to me—he could never be that.

"Peter!" I cheered.

Something was wrong. The wolf lifted its head and howled. It was a wail of pain, as if the big animal were caught in a trap.

I became afraid. Had the curse warped Peter's mind? That wasn't possible. Peter wasn't like my father. Peter had never hurt me. He would never touch me when I didn't want to be touched.

The wolf gazed at me, but not maliciously. It was a longing, mournful gaze. Then suddenly, he sprang off into the dark forest.

I dropped my basket and ran after him, calling: "Peter! Come back!"

Running into the forest at night was not a wise action. The wolf was much faster than I. He vanished; and I was surrounded by darkness, for only a small amount of moonlight could penetrate the tall evergreens that grew tightly together. The ominous fangs of the pine trees were threatening to bite me.

I stopped running. It was futile to continue. I had no clue as to which direction Peter had even gone. As I turned to go back to the cottage, I saw another wolf standing in front of me. It was a large gray timber wolf, its tongue hanging out. With gleaming eyes it gazed at me. A hot fear burned me. I took a step back and became aware of other wolves on my flanks. Two to the right, and two or three to the left. And three more sets of gleaming eyes appeared behind the leader. I had only my little knife to defend myself. Before I could reach for it, a wolf was at my side!

It was Peter.

The pack leader growled. Peter was resolute. He stood by my side. The wolf pack would never get to me without killing him first. After running his long tongue over his fangs—causing a long string of slobber to hang for a moment, catch the moonlight, and then fall to ground—the leader took one step toward me. Peter growled loudly. The leader hesitated, and the confrontation was over. The wolf pack retreated and disappeared into the blackness of the forest.

I turned to Peter. He nodded his canine head in the direction of my grandmother's cottage, pointing with his muzzle. It was a silent, but imperious command. I felt powerless to disobey. He followed me, making sure I got back safely. When I reached the clearing around the cottage, I turned to plead with him to stay, but he was gone. I went inside and cried. I couldn't understand why he had left me. For years my father led a double life: he had at least controlled his murderous impulses. That was my answer. Bitter though it was to accept. My father had hurt Lucie and me in other ways. He had not truly loved us. Peter, however, truly loved me. He put me even before himself. That made me cry ever harder.

[contd]


	2. A Daughter of Eve

II. A Daughter of Eve

After the full moon, I went into the village to visit my mother. She was very lonely now. Lucie was dead, father had disappeared, Grandmother was gone, and I had taken up residence in the forest. She was glad to see me, her only family. And I was actually happy to hear the latest advices: a new bailiff had been appointed; a new priest had finally arrived, Father Christophe; Prudence was engaged to Henry's cousin, and Rose was bitterly envious of her; Henry had joined the Order of St. Lazarus, crusaders and hospitallers to lepers. And poor Roxanne...

I knew where I would find Roxanne. In the cemetery. On the way into town, I had picked some of the early blooming wild flowers that grew along the forest path and the Center Road leading into town. Once in the cemetery, I took the wild flowers from my basket and placed them at Lucie's headstone. I knelt and prayed.

Then I found Roxanne sleeping—passed out actually—on Claude's grave. The smell of ale was strong. I woke her up and picked her off the ground. She had mud and grass in her unkempt rusty-colored hair, and her clothes were dirty. She look like the mendicant who had frightened me when I was eight years old and bringing lunch to my father in the fields. Scolding her was pointless and cruel. I said a quick prayer for her brother, made the sign of the cross, and took Roxanne home.

The little shack was cold and damp. There was no fire wood. There was no food.

I sighed.

"I'm sorry," Roxanne said. "My mother always said I was dumb and useless."

I hugged her. She had always taken good care of Claude; but without him, she was lost.

"Don't talk like that," I said softly.

She leaned against me. I could tell that she didn't want me to let her go.

"Now look what I've done," Roxanne said, her eyes tearing up. "I've got mud on your beautiful red riding hood."

"Don't fret."

She wept quietly.

I prodded her gently.

"I can't leave you here without food and firewood. Can you walk to my grandmother's cottage?"

She nodded.

"I'll take you home with me."

We walked silently out of the village, along the road, and down the path into the forest. It was sunny and warm, but the breeze still had a chill from winter. We were reticent until Roxanne spoke.

"He's dead because of me," she said.

"Claude? No he's not. You tried your best."

"And I betrayed you. I should be dead. I failed you both."

"You were powerless against Father Solomon and his soldiers."

"God punished Claude, and it's my fault."

"Roxanne, what are you talking about?"

"Do you remember four years ago? That winter that was so very cold, and the snow just kept falling and falling?"

"Yes."

"It seemed as if the snow would never stop. We were hungry, Claude and I. And he stole some specie from the tithing plate. I saw him take it. You know how he was with the sleight of hand—no one else noticed; but I saw him him take the coins. We went to the Red Lion tavern and bought a bowl of venison stew. We wolfed it down. I never confessed these sins, thievery and gluttony. I was afraid they'd put us in the pillory and it was so cold. Even after, I never confessed."

"God knows you're sorry, Roxanne. He knows what's in your heart. He didn't punish Claude for stealing the coins to feed his sister, but he's punishing Solomon now for killing an innocent boy."

I put my arm around her.

"I'm sorry that I didn't know how hungry you two were, or..."

"Or you would have helped us," Roxanne said. "You've always been a good friend, and I betrayed you. I'm a Judas!"

"You were desperate," I offered. "Your judgment was clouded."

"I should have been strong like you," she said. "I should go back to my hovel and rot there."

"No," I said and smiled at her. "We're almost home."

A melancholy smile turned up the corners of Roxanne's mouth slightly. I took hold of her hand and led her deeper into the cool forest.


	3. Two Births

III. Two Births

My black cat, named Finn, was perched on the rail of the porch. As Roxanne and I climbed the stairs, he greeted us with a _wrrr_.

After we entered Grandmother's cottage, Roxanne looked around mournfully.

"I always liked your Grandmother," she said. "I will always remember when I was six. I had that fever and saw terrible visions of puppets and dragons. Your Grandmother brought me that special tea she brewed, and she nursed me back to health. She was like my own Grandmother: she was like that to half the village."

"I miss her too," I said with a heavy heart, as I took off the cloak that she had given me.

With the poker, I stirred the embers in the hearth, and put another log on the fire. Then I took the washtub down from its hook on the wall.

"Get undressed," I told Roxanne. "I'll get some water from the rain barrel."

When I returned with two buckets of water, Roxanne's dirty clothes were piled at her feet; and she was modestly wrapped in a blanket. I poured one bucket into the washtub, and the other into the kettle hanging over the fire. Then I got two more buckets of water for Roxanne's bath.

When the water in the kettle was warm enough, I poured it into the washtub, and handed Roxanne a clean rag.

"There you go," I said. "While you wash up, I'll get out some of Grandmother's old clothes for you to wear. You're a bit taller, but they'll have to do until we wash your clothes."

Roxanne stood bashfully wrapped in the blanket, until I disappeared behind the curtain were my Grandmother's bed stood. There was a big cedar chest there. I opened it and searched the contents from some clothes to give to Roxanne. As I searched, I heard her splashing in the bath water.

As I brought her some of my Grandmother's old clothes, I stole a salacious peek at her nude body. She was hale and plump; her skin was white and creamy; her big pink nipples were wet and cold—hard and pointy. She caught me looking at her and smiled at me. It had been many months since I saw her smile: it made me happy. I smiled back, but turned away quickly. I had been looking at her the way Peter used to look at me.

I started to prepare supper, but I couldn't concentrate. I kept peeking at Roxanne. Whenever she caught me, she smiled.

Finally she was trying to rinse the suds from her long rusty-colored hair. I went over to her.

"Let me help you," I said, "or you'll spill water all over the floor."

I took the ladle from her, touching her hand as I did so. She stretched her neck back, letting her hair hang down. I couldn't take my eyes off her beautiful white throat. I wanted to kiss it, to bite it. I ladled the water over her hair with a trembling hand. When I was done, she looked at me.

"Are you all right, Valerie?" she asked. "You're shaking."

I swallowed hard. I felt feverish. She thought I was the strong one, but I couldn't resist temptation.

"You're beautiful, Roxanne."

"Do you think so? The swains at the tavern all say I'm too fat."

"At the tavern?" I spit. "Have you been loitering there?"

Ashamed, she looked away from me.

"I—ah—I—" she stuttered, her face turning bright red while she tried to cover her nudity with her arms. "I knew you shouldn't have taken me in. I'm no good."

"No," I said. "It's not that." I paused, and Roxanne looked at me expectantly. "I—I don't want," I stuttered, then nearly shouted: "I don't want to share you with those dirty old pigs at the tavern, or anyone else!"

"W-what?"

I grabbed her. Grabbed her more roughly than I intended and kissed her on the mouth just as Peter used to kiss me. She was pliant and warm and soft.

We were both breathing hard when I finally let her go.

"Oh, Valerie," she sighed.

"Live here, Roxanne," I said. "Live with me, help me, share the cottage with me and..." I turned and gazed at the curtain, behind which was my Grandmother's big bed.

Roxanne turned her head and followed my gaze.

With curious Finn following us, I took Roxanne's hand and led her to the bed. She lay on it and watched me while I undressed. Then I crawled onto the bed with her. I caressed the curve of her body, and I could feel the tension in her body. However, I felt her eagerness when I kissed her. As my lips pressed to hers, her anxiety evaporated, leaving only excitement and desire. She locked her arms around me and pulled me close. Her lips held mine. Our kiss was continuous, with only brief gasping breaks for air.

Our blissful embrace went on and on.

We purred, moaned, and shrieked. Again and again.

It was dark outside when our passions flagged. Only the orange glow of the embers in the hearth cast a feeble light in the silent cottage.

We were still breathing hard; and with my finger tips, I was caressing Roxanne's upper arm.

"I can't describe how I feel," she said. "I can't. No words are that beautiful."

"My Grandmother used to tell me that when you fall in love, you're born again and receive a new soul," I said.

Roxanne smiled, and I kissed her again.

[contd]


	4. Children of the Night

IV. Children of the Night

During the long winter, I had studied my Grandmother's book on plants and herbs. It was a heavy ancient tome bound in leather, with pictures of the plants and descriptions of their properties. But she had encrypted the text; and therefore, it took me considerable time to decode the writing. I took the most familiar plant—garlic—with the most recognizable illustration, and worked at decoding that entry. When I had figured out the code in the entry for garlic, I was able to read the others. Each entry gave the ailments and diseases that could be treated with the herb, and there were recipes for various brews, menstruums, potions, admixtures, tonics, and poultices. With the arrival of spring, I wandered in the forest searching for the medicinal plants described in my Grandmother's book. Comfrey, with its pink bell-shaped flowers, was one of the plants that I often gathered. It was used to treat colds and to heal wounds. Roxanne helped me collect the plants. She became my apprentice, and I assumed my Grandmother's role as an herbalist and apothecary for the neighborhood.

During the summer, I made a routine of going outside on the nights of the full moon to listen for Peter's call, which I could identify from hearing it during our first encounter. In this way, I knew that he was still alive. Although I wondered what the isolation and the transformations were doing to his mind.

One night, Roxanne joined me outside on the porch. The wolves were very boisterous that night. A plethora of howls sounded through the forest. I listened for the one that was manna for my heart.

"Don't the wolves frighten you?" Roxanne asked.

Peter's distinctive howl rang out.

"No," I said, and I smiled sadly.

"That sounds like the werewolf, Valerie," Roxanne observed anxiously.

In the yellow light cast from the window, I could see Roxanne shudder.

"It's all right," I said, touching her arm reassuringly.

Peter's howl sounded again. I took Roxanne into my arms. She was trembling like the rabbit I killed when I was six years old.

"You don't have to be afraid, it's Peter."

"What! Peter's the werewolf!"

"No, no," I said. "Peter helped me kill the werewolf—my father; but Peter was bitten."

"Then he is a werewolf!"

"But there's nothing to fear," I said.

"Then why doesn't he live here with you?"

"He said he was afraid that he'd hurt me, but he would never do that."

"How do you know?"

"He won't hurt me because he loves me. He has always loved me, and he always will."

"And," Roxanne moaned, pushing herself away from me, "you have always loved Peter, and you always will."

I regretted my words, but could not undo the wounds inflicted by them.

"Roxanne," I said, reaching for her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I deserve it for denouncing you to Father Solomon," she said, twisting away again and turning her face into the darkness. "Someday I'll make it up to you. I'll earn your love, even if I'm not first in your heart."

"But I do love you, Roxanne," I declared.

She looked at me with a sorrowful expression; but yet, there was a glimmer of longing in her blue eyes.

"When you're finished listening to Peter's lament," she said, "I'll be waiting for you in bed."

"I'll join you shortly."

[contd]


	5. A Vile Potion

V. A Vile Potion.

As autumn approached, I noticed a strange occurrence; Peter began to howl on nights other than the full moon. This could only mean that his isolation in the forest was allowing the animal within to take over. This worried me—would I lose Peter forever? would he stop loving me?—but Roxanne gave me solace. She was remarkably sensitive to my moods and solicitous to my needs. And, if I may add without being too churlish, she was quick to let me take off her clothes, and that was always a welcome distraction.

Shortly after the harvest began, our erstwhile friend Rose appeared at the cottage while Roxanne and I were making preserves.

"It's my father, he needs your help," Rose pleaded. "He was working in the fields, trying to keep up with the other reapers because he didn't want to be teased for being slow, when he stopped and complained that his chest hurt. Then he just fell down! We can't wake him up. Please, Valerie, you must help him. Please."

It was the custom of the villagers to mock and mistreat the farmer who was last to harvest his field. A straw effigy of a goat was put in his field for all to see, and this unfortunate farmer was called the "lame goat." At the tavern, this farmer had to buy ale for the others too, or he would receive more abuse.

Roxanne gave me an apprehensive look.

The fear in Rose's eyes was piteous; and she was shaking, holding back her tears.

"Please, Valerie, please."

"I can't promise any results, Rose," I said, reaching for my red riding hood. "But, of course, I'll do whatever I can for him."

The three of us left at once for the village. Some of the peasants had carried Rose's father to his bed. Besides Rose's mother, Prudence and Father Christophe were there. The priest was kneeling and praying at the bedside when I followed Rose into the room. Prudence had an arm around Rose's mother, comforting her. Rose's father looked ghastly. The pallor of death was already painted on his face. His lips were purplish, his breathing shallow. I found a weak and erratic pulse.

When the priest was done praying, he stood up with difficulty, for he was an elderly man.

"I'm Father Christophe," he said, taking my hand. "And you must be the famous Valerie that Prudence has told me so much about."

"I am, Father."

He drew me away from the bed.

"The end is near, I'm afraid," he said in a low voice.

"Yes," I said. "It won't be long. I'll tell Rose, Father. I've known her longer."

I approached Rose gravely.

"I'm afraid that I can't help your father, Rose. I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do, but he's going to die."

My old friend looked at me, as if I had spit in her face.

"Murderer!" she hissed.

"Rose!" Prudence scolded. "What's possessed you?"

Roxanne pulled at my arm and led me out of the room.

"Oh," she moaned. "I knew this would be trouble."

"If I had refused to come, Rose would have blamed me anyway."

"I don't know why she's become so vile," Roxanne said, shaking her head slowly. "The four of us used to be such good friends."

Neighbors can be ignorant, neighbors can be inconsiderate, neighbors can be dangerous; with a friend like Rose, who needs neighbors. After her father passed on, Rose spread the malignant rumor that I had given him poison as revenge for the events of the previous year when she had danced with Peter at the festival and told me that I'd get what I deserved as Father Solomon was about to sacrifice me to the werewolf. For decades, my Grandmother made herbal remedies; and no one thought it was witchcraft until Father Solomon came to the village and saw witches everywhere—in the playful tricks of a simple-minded boy, in the bright red riding hood of a strong-willed young woman, or anywhere he chose to look. Intelligent people would have realized what Rose was doing. For two days she spread her lies. Some villagers were sympathetic with her view. It was, however, after the violent hail storm, which destroyed the unharvested crops, that the villagers' ugliness turned vicious. They marched on my cottage.

The moon, like the blade of a scythe carried by some in the mob, hung in the black sky just above the tall pine trees. I heard the mob coming. The clamor that the villagers made was hateful even from a distance. I saw their torches flickering through the trees.

"Stay inside," I warned Roxanne. And then after putting on my red riding hood, I went outside.

From where I stood on the porch, I watched them fill the clearing in front of the cottage.

"There's the witch!" someone shouted.

"Burn the witch!" the mob growled.

"Burn her!"

These were the cries I heard. Roxanne heard them too, and she joined me on the porch. Silently, she took hold of my hand.

"Verily, I am not a witch!" I shouted. "I do not consort with the devil."

"Of course, a witch would deny it!"

"With that logic, I could convict any of you!"

"You poisoned my father with a vile potion!" Rose howled.

"That's a lie," I proclaimed. "Prudence was there, Father Christophe was there. They were witnesses. I never gave your father anything."

"She did!" Rose screamed. "And she raised the storm that destroyed your crops! She's a witch!"

"Burn her!" the mob howled over my protests.

Some men advanced. When they started to climb the stairs, Roxanne was decisive. With strength that surprised me, she pushed me back and took up a position at the top of the steps, clutching tightly the rails, in an attempt to shield me. One of the peasants grabbed Roxanne, but she wouldn't let go of the rail—she was determined to be the strong one, to make up for last year's weakness.

The man hit Roxanne. I screamed. He hit her again and she went down.

"We'll burn this whore too," he growled loudly.

A howl of approval exploded from the mob.

The men on the stairs jerked Roxanne up by her hair and began to beat her with their fists. I screamed again and reached for her. They pulled her away from me and seized me too.

But they let us go when a furious growl shot from the darkness of the nearby forest. It was a growl they had heard the year before. The members of the mob were like the wolves Peter had driven off in the spring, their courage was gone even before a fight. I could see the fear on their faces and in their eyes.

With a long leap, a large black wolf landed in the middle of the mob. The men screamed like children, the women bawled like babies, and they all ran in different directions. The forest was black, but the wolf had better eyes at night, the wolf had a keen sense of smell, the wolf had demonic strength. The people were helpless. I could hear the snarling of the wolf and the screams of the villagers echoing through the trees.

After a while, the cries died away, and the forest was silent. Thankfully, Roxanne was not seriously hurt—she had only a small cut on her lower lip. At a window, I kept an anxious watch. In the faint light cast from the windows of the cottage, I saw Peter return. He was naked and looked like a white phantom as he crossed the clearing and disappeared in the spot from which he had leapt into the crowd of villagers. In my red riding hood, I swept across the clearing after him. But I lost him. As I turned back towards the cottage, I heard my name whispered in a low growl.

"Valerie."

Peter was hiding behind a tree as if ready to ambush me.

"Peter!"

"It's you."

"Yes."

He stepped from behind the tree, half dressed in the clothes he had hidden there before transforming and scattering the pack of villagers. Jumping into his arms, I cried:

"Oh! Peter!"

I kissed him for the first time in a year, but he pushed me away. He was vexed, and his dark eyes were melancholic.

"What's wrong? What happened? Was anyone hurt?"

"No," Peter said. "I didn't want to make the situation worse for you. But I gave them all a mighty scare. They won't bother you for a while."

"We should run away together," I said, hopefully. "Just like we planned last year."

"It's too late in the season. Snow is falling in the mountains," Peter said. "You'd never make it over the summits in the winter."

"I could cross. I'm strong."

"No. The wind up there would freeze you to death," Peter said. "We can't be together, anyways."

"Why not? You protected me from the hungry wolves, you protected me from the rabid villagers—I'm safe with you. Don't you love me anymore?"

"You don't seem to realize: I have an evil curse upon me," Peter said. "I love you, Valerie, but I'm fighting the Devil, and he is very strong."

"Love is stronger," I replied.

"But what if we had children?" Peter asked. "What if we had daughters? Your father should have loved you and kept you from harm, and instead..."

I recoiled at the horrific thought—at the thought of what my father had done to Lucie and me.

"I'm going now," he sighed, pulling on the rest of his clothes.

I started to cry.

"I thought you were strong, Valerie."

I swallowed hard and choked off my tears.

"Always remember, I'm watching over you," he said before turning and leaving.

I returned to the cottage, returned to Roxanne, the beautiful rusty-haired girl that I had just offered to abandon. She was waiting for me. Weeping, I fell on my knees at her feet and threw my arms around her legs.

"What's wrong?" she asked, alarmed. "Valerie, what's wrong? Is it Peter? Is he all right?"

"Yes," I sobbed. "He's watching over me."

"So am I," Roxanne said, pulling me up and into her arms. "I love you."

[contd]


	6. Here Comes the Knight

VI. Here Comes the Knight.

On a chilly autumn morning several days after Peter drove the mob away, I was getting firewood when I heard the clip-clops of multiple horses coming through the forest along the trail. I stood and watched apprehensively as several horses ambled into the clearing, carrying knights. They were accompanied by numerous men-at-arms and pack-animals. The misty breath of men and animals drifted around in the cold air. Three of the knights wore black tunics with wide white crosses on them. One knight wore a white tunic with a narrow red cross; two wore red tunics with narrow white crosses on them; and the last, like the leader, wore a white tunic with a narrow green cross on it. They all wore gray cloaks. Their leader was a tall familiar figure—it was Henry.

I was still apprehensive when he dismounted and smiled at me. Nonetheless, I forced myself to give him a comely smile.

"Valerie," he said holding out his hands, "I'm so glad that you're safe."

I took his hands. Bending slightly, he brought one of my hands to his mouth and kissed it delicately. He held it for a little too long.

"I was afraid," he said, "that the werewolf might have carried you off or worse, before I could get here."

Roxanne appeared on the porch, her red hair burning brightly in the morning sunlight.

"We have more to fear from the villagers than from the werewolf," I said.

"Ah, yes," Henry said. "I've heard about that too. We passed through the village on our way here. I spoke with the bailiff, the priest, and Prudence. I know all about that. You have nothing to fear from Rose. I told her that if she spreads any more malicious lies about you, I will cut her tongue out."

"I should have done that myself," I said.

"How is it that you came to be back in Daggerhorn, Henry?" Roxanne asked, as she descended the steps from the porch.

"Father Christophe and the bailiff sent a letter to the bishop after the villagers fled from the werewolf. The bishop knew that this was my home village, and so he put me in charge of ridding the place of the beast once and for all."

"So," Roxanne said, "you are to be our hero."

"I do God's work," Henry replied.

"So said Father Solomon. And he murdered Father Auguste and my brother. Was that God's work?"

"Jesus was perfect; men are not."

"Father Solomon didn't catch the werewolf either," I said. "How will you succeed where he failed?"

"We're not going to hunt the werewolf like the villages did last time, nor will we use Father Solomon's questionable methods," Henry explained. "We know that you are the focus of the beast. Last time, it ravaged the village in an attempt to carry you off; this time it appeared here at your Grandmother's cottage where you are living. The beast will come back. On that, I'll wager. When it does, these will be waiting."

Then Henry pulled from his saddlebag, a steel contraption to which a heavy length of chain was attached. With a groan and great effort, he opened up the two formidable jaws of the apparatus and set its trigger. Using a branch from the pile of firewood, Henry poked the trap, as if an animal were stepping into it. Instantly the mighty iron jaws slammed shut.

"I have a pair of these, and I'm going to use my old smithy to make more. That's how we'll catch the werewolf," he declared.

Until Henry could make more traps to encircle the cottage by placing them in the sundry approaches, he left three of the knights on guard to protect Roxanne and me from the werewolf. I had refused to stay with my mother in the village, for half of the denizens wanted to burn Roxanne and me. Without incurring Henry's suspicions, I tried to persuade him that the werewolf was no threat. It hadn't so much as scratched a villager this time. I suggested that the cowardly villagers had exaggerated the encounter. The rustics had gathered at the tavern to stoke their courage with ale before their abortive expedition to my cottage. Maybe what chased them, I proposed, had been a feral dog. Thinking that I was jesting, Henry chuckled at my suggestion.

The three knights assigned to guard us, were monks—monks of war, but monks nonetheless; however, I didn't like the way that two of them looked at me while I was doing chores. I was especially displeased one brisk afternoon when I found Roxanne, shawl pulled back to reveal the top of her breasts, giggling at the inane story of one of the knights, while he chopped some kindling for her. This "holy man" nearly lopped off one of his fingers leering at Roxanne's endowments.

He carried the wood into the cottage, and then left us alone.

"You're just jealous," Roxanne spit at me when I tried to warn her about him. "How dare he find me attractive and not you."

"That's not it," I replied. "He was looking at me earlier when I went to fetch water. Don't encourage him. He doesn't think you're that special."

"You b—" Roxanne bit her lip, while her nostrils flared in sudden rage.

"That came out wrong," I said. "I didn't mean it, Roxanne. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm so sorry. I wanted to protect you that's all. The tension is too much for me to bare now. I need you more than ever."

"I know. That knight told me Henry will have all the traps ready tomorrow."

"How can I warn Peter?" I asked. "How can I warn Peter?"

"He must have realized that the villagers would do something, Valerie, like last year when Solomon was summoned," Roxanne said. "He'll surely take precautions, or go deeper into the forest away from the village."

"No, no," I fretted. "He'll think that he has to protect me, and he'll get caught in one of Henry's traps!"

The stress was too much for me, and I began to sob. It was Roxanne who was the strong one. She took me in her arms and held me while I cried. She cradled me tenderly and motherly. When my tears dried up, Roxanne released me.

"I know what you need," she said, as she unlaced her bodice and exposed her breasts.

I frowned.

"But," she pouted, "you always love to play with my udders."

With her hands, she mashed her breasts together, and then she pinched her pink teats, pulling on them slowly.

"Not now, Roxanne."

"This will put you in the mood," she said, taking down from the shelf a jar of ointment made from herbs that had calming properties. We used it to rubbed each other's bodies. To warm it up, she set it by the hearth.

"Not now, I told you."

"You are suffering, Valerie," Roxanne said. "You comfort people who suffer with your herbal remedies; I'll comfort you in my way."

And she caressed my face with her finger tips, and she kissed me lightly. When I didn't respond, she kissed me harder, kissed me with ardor. Still, I was passive. Roxanne let out a long sigh and stepped back. She was going to put away her big creamy-white breasts and lace up her bodice. I grabbed the string with a waggish tug. With a come-hither grin on her lips, she looked at me.

"Be my healer, Roxanne," I whispered.

Around the bed, numerous candles were burning. Roxanne and I were kneeling on the bed, rubbing each other's naked body with warm unguent and kissing each other's mouth. Over our moans and panting breaths, a floor board creaked loudly. I stopped massaging Roxanne and pulled away from her lips. We both turned toward the direction of the sound.

Suddenly the curtain was pulled aside—Henry stood by our bed with sword in hand, his eyes flaring with anger.

"You are witches!" he proclaimed. "And you're anointing yourselves for the night-flight."

"That's false," I shouted back. "We're not witches!"

"It's clear now," Henry said. "Rose was right!"

"No," Roxanne declared. "Rose is a liar."

"Lo! I see it with my own eyes!" Henry testified. "You're applying the flying ointment to each other."

"This is a harmless salve," Roxanne asserted. "Valerie and I love each other. We lie together like husband and wife."

"Abomination!" Henry roared thunderously, putting the point of his sword to her throat.

Roxanne closed her eyes tightly and bit her lip to keep her jaw from trembling.

"For God's sake, Henry," I entreated, "put your sword down, please. I beg you, don't hurt Roxanne."

His strong arm shook a little.

"You're not a murderer, Henry," I said, trying to use a calm voice. "You won't get closer to God by shedding blood."

He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his resolve. His grip on his sword tightened. His knuckles whitened.

"Please, Henry," I whispered. "If you ever cared for me, don't harm Roxanne. I brought her here to live with me—your sword should be at my throat."

He looked at me. He looked at Roxanne, and back at me. The features of his angry visage softened. Slowly he lowered his sword and then put it back into its sheath. He exhaled deeply. He looked at me sadly, and then turned and left like a breeze slicing at the curtain around the bed. I grabbed my red cloak and followed him outside.

"Henry!" I called from the porch.

He was on the steps, but he stopped and turned towards me.

"I thought you might be a witch," he said, "but instead I find you and Roxanne—you and Roxanne—if it had been Peter, I could understand..."

"I needed someone," I explained. "I lost my sister, my grandmother, and Peter."

"And your father."

"And my father," I reluctantly added. "And I lost you too, Henry. You left to be a crusader. Roxanne needed someone. She lost Claude. We needed each other. It is nothing evil."

Henry took a deep breath.

"Well, I'm glad you're not a witch, Valerie," he said. "Vows or no vows, I could never have had you burned at the stake." Then he smiled at me.

I smiled back.

"That's good to know!"


	7. Tarnished Coins

VII. Tarnished Coins.

It snowed on the day Henry brought the traps from the village. The knights set them strategically encircling the cottage. They chained them to big trees, covered everything with snow; and then they brushed them with a branch. In three spots, the knights built blinds so that they could conceal themselves and wait with their crossbows loaded with silver-tipped bolts. Roxanne and I were prisoners: we didn't want to go to the village, but now we couldn't go too far from the cottage because of the traps. Only Henry's men knew where they were. There was no way I could contact Peter to warn him about the traps without the knights knowing. Roxanne and I were trapped too. Like prisoners who accept their sentence with stoicism, we waited.

With help from one of my Grandmother's concoctions, that night I slept, but was woken when Roxanne sat up in bed. The cold air rushed in when the covers pulled away from me.

"What is it?" I asked drowsily.

"It's Peter." Roxanne replied.

A howl cut the air.

I sat up too.

"Peter," I said, "go away. You're in danger."

But only Roxanne could hear my words.

"I wish Peter would kill them," Roxanne declared, her voice edged with hatred that I had never heard before. "I wish he would tear them open and rip out their guts while they're still alive."

I shivered.

"I saw that knight look at you today when you went for water before the traps were set," Roxanne continued. "He looked at you as if you were a lamb. He looked at you like the drunken slobs in the tavern used to look at me. Then they would hold out a few kreuzer."

In the total darkness, I could tell tears were running down Roxanne's face.

"I knew I shouldn't, but I would always take the coins. Every time, I would take the coins."

"Sometimes," I said, "the coin is shiny, sometimes the coin is tarnished; but we always want them."

There was silence for a long while—the seventh seal had been broken.

"Henry still loves you, Valerie," Roxanne said. "He would forsake God for you."

"I know," I replied. "Henry is a good man, but I am his weakness—his mortal fascination."

"If you told him about Peter, Henry would save him for you—he would figure out a way. If you offered yourself to Henry, he would save Peter for you."

"But it's a trap," I said. "Henry would hate himself for it. I would hate myself for it. What is life without love? If I entice Henry to do it, I destroy him. He couldn't love me if I did that; and afterwards, how could I love Peter? I don't want to do the Devil's work. The Devil destroys love."

"Then Peter is going to die."

Another doleful howl blasted through the winter's night.

"Or I for him," I said. "My Grandmother used to say that the heart of love is sacrifice."

Kicking the covers off, I put my feet on the cold floor, and began to pull my dress on over my head.

"Valerie," Roxanne said anxiously, "what are you doing?"

I didn't answer her. Instead, grabbing my cloak, I headed for the door.

The moon was full, the snow was fresh, and the night was almost as bright as day. Wrapped in my red riding hood, I went out on the porch, waiting not for my lover to sing for me, but dreading a calamity.

Roxanne stepped out of the cottage after me.

"It's freezing, Valerie, come inside," she pleaded.

Just then, a sharp agonizing yowl blasted through the cold motionless air. Peter was caught in one of Henry's traps!

Instantly, I ran toward the cry. I knew exactly from where it had come. By the brook where I had often seen large paw prints when fetching water.

"No, Valerie! Come back!" Roxanne shouted to me, but I raced on.

As I reached the open space by the brook, I heard soldiers coming through the trees, while I knelt by Peter, who was struggling piteously in the snow stained with blood. His left front paw was clamped into the iron jaws of Henry's trap. But before I could do anything, a knight with his crossbow ready appeared on the opposite bank. He took aim.

"No!" I screamed, and threw myself over Peter.

Suddenly, Roxanne dashed like a deer out of the forest and threw herself in front of us, shielding us just as the knight fired.

The sound of the bolt from the crossbow tearing through her body will haunt me for ever.

Rage, fear, and love gave me the strength to open the jaws of the trap. The other soldiers, struggling through the deep snow, where emerging from the trees.

"Run, Peter!" I screamed. "Run before it's too late!"

Peter ran into the forest.

I heard another bolt fly over my head.

Roxanne was lying face down in the snow, an enormous blood stain growing all around her. I rolled her over. Blood gushed from her mouth. Her opened eyes gazed past me at the black winter sky. I took hold of her cold hand, but she was already dead.

I heard Henry call my name; but as if in a trance, I stood up, took a few steps, and fell down.

Whatever I recall after that, I do not know if I remembered it on my own, or if someone told it to me. The wolves of the village, exacerbated, burnt Grandmother's cottage down and with it her tome of herbal cures. Because Roxanne had protected Peter, a werewolf, the villagers assumed she had been a witch and threw her body into the fire. She is completely gone now, unable to rest beside her beloved brother.

I'm sure that Henry brought me to the Lazar house—an asylum for lepers, but I haven't seen him since Roxanne died. This place is a prison on a mountain top even more remote than Daggerhorn. A provost of the Order of St. Lazarus governs a monastery for men and a convent for women that share a central chapel. All of the residents are lepers—scarred and deformed by the disease that renders them unclean in the eyes of God and society. They live in the Lazar house praying for salvation, protected by the Knights of St. Lazarus. The nun in charge of the convent says that I'm possessed by a demon. I'm woken in the middle of the night by a beating with a cane. The nuns and monks here wear rough gray frocks like the fur of wolves, but they are more beastly than any wolf in the forest. After the beating, I slave baking bread in a kitchen hot as one of the chambers of hell. After three hours, I go to mass in the icy chapel with the wretched souls who live here; but I don't sing. A sure sign, I'm told, that I'm possessed. After mass, I'm beaten again by a rota of inmates. Bellowing in Latin, the priest, hands twisted by leprosy, stands over me as I'm beaten. He's reciting the exorcism ritual.

When they're done exorcizing me, two leprous sisters drag me back to my cell. It's a tiny, dank room with dark stone walls and a heavy wooden door. It is an actual prison cell, for I'm locked inside it. There is a small window, high above my head, from which I'm blessed with a modicum of sunlight and the occasional whiff of fresh air. Last night, through this little window, I heard the howl of a wolf. I'm sure it was Peter. He'll free me from this dungeon.

The End.

Thanks to everyone for reading this far—not too many. :(

Thanks to anonymous of 5/30 for the comment. [This plot was conceived long before you read.]

Special thanks to hankthefluuphiwaffle for commenting on every chapter!


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